


The Simple Life

by herequeerandreadytofight



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, Heist, They are gay, Yuletide, definitely not based on any real pharmabros nope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:14:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herequeerandreadytofight/pseuds/herequeerandreadytofight
Summary: Debbie gets bored.





	The Simple Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ourdarkspirits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdarkspirits/gifts).



She knew Debbie had reached a new level of post-heist boredom when, after digging through the junk drawer to find a screwdriver, she unearthed a handful of fabric. She pulled it out to reveal two elderly smiling faces and puffy lettering that proclaimed: Jan and Dan’s Fiftieth! 

“Debbie!” She found her curled up with a cup of coffee, face severe as she flipped the page of the New York Times. 

“Listen, I had no issue with the lingerie. Or the Dom Perignon. Or the fucking eight million fruit baskets. But this?” 

Debbie blinked up at Lou. “I just wanted to celebrate love?” 

She knew Debbie couldn’t see her raise her eyebrows under the carefully combed fringe, but she knew Debbie could sense it. 

“It’s a Christmas present for Rose. You can’t buy that kind of camp.” Debbie sipped her coffee, giving Lou a heart melting smile. Lou sighed and collapsed on the settee she’d dragged all the way from a foreclosed Indian restaurant uptown that smelled a little bit like curry still. 

“Debs, I just don’t want you to get caught over something as stupid as a t-shirt. I know it’s boring compared to where we were last May, but- Listen, why don’t we take a vacation? We could spend Christmas in France.” 

Debbie smiled at her, and climbed over to give her a kiss. Cupping her face in the palm of her hand, Debbie looked deep into Lou’s eyes. 

“Baby, you know I love you. And I promise, no more small time shit.” 

Lou frowned. The alarms in the back of her head that let her know when Debbie was about to rope her into something stupid were louder than they’d been the time Debbie had introduced her to Claude. Even louder than the time she’d convinced Lou that it would be completely fine to rummage through the coat check at Jeff Bezos’ birthday. Debbie flipped the paper to reveal a smug, Brooks Brothers wearing man on the steps of a courthouse, arms raised in victory. The headline read: In Shocking Verdict, LifeCo CEO Not Guilty. Lou skimmed through the story. The man, Martin Christianson, had sold a clotting agent with a high risk of HIV transmission throughout Africa and Asia, but got off on a technicality with the help of some overpriced lawyers. She put the paper down to reveal Debbie’s beaming face. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” 

 

 

Even with the heavy snow outside, Nine Ball’s was crowded. Over the clack of the pool tables and the general chatter of the bar, they could hear Amita’s voice rise above the general din. She waved at Debbie and Lou without even missing a beat in her recap of the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. The couple sat down at a table a few feet away. 

“You know this whole getup isn’t fooling anyone, right?” 

Constance pulled her hoodie strings tighter. “You’re gonna blow my cover, dude.”

Lou sighed. “I’m getting a drink, want one?” 

Constance straightened. “Yo, can you get me some Jager?” 

By the time Lou returned to the table with a glass of wine in one hand, a beer in another, and a shot of Jager balanced on the crook of her arm, Debbie and Constance were huddled over an honest to god dossier. Nine Ball, who sat at the bar hunched over her laptop, looked back and sighed. 

“You all can stay past closing. I’ll talk then.” 

They waited until the last straggler left, Constance passing the time by showing the videos of skateboard tricks and her cat. Lots of videos of her cat. Finally Nine Ball ambled over, laptop cradled in her hands. 

“I can’t do anything from here.” 

“Nice to see you, Nine Ball. How’s your sister? Oh, I’m fine thank you for asking.” Debbie mumbled. Nine Ball pivoted to Lou. 

“His shit is encrypted. I’d need to be on-site.” Lou dug through her messenger bag. Out came two invitations embossed in gold leaf, and three resumes. 

Constance snagged the top-most resume. “Are the names on these final, because I’ve always seen myself as more of a Louise-” 

Nine Ball wrinkled her nose. “Catering again?” 

“They’d remember someone who doesn’t look like them. This is old money. His great-grandfather was basically a Rockefeller.” 

“When?” 

Debbie smiled. “Job interview’s tomorrow. Don’t worry, with those resumes, you’ll get it.”   
Early the next morning, when Constance, Nine Ball, and a very hungover Amita were on the subway to the catering company’s Manhattan office, Debbie hit the third number on her emergency contacts. 

“Hi Aunt Peg!” 

“Tammy? It’s me.” 

“Oh my goodness, it’s so nice to hear from you.” The noise of children shouting dimmed a little bit after Debbie heard a door click shut. 

“No.” 

“Aw, Tammy. I was just calling to say Merry Christmas.” 

“No you were not, and no, I will not get involved in whatever cockamanie scheme you have cooked up this time. John’s entire extended family is here, and I have to come up with a holiday dinner for three vegans and someone who claims she’s gluten free, but I saw her take a donut this morning and I swear to God, she’s just saying it to fuck with me-” 

“Tammy, Tammy, please. I just need a tiny favor. Do you still have the dresses from the Vogue closet?” 

“....yes.” 

“Can you send them down? That’s all I need.” It was silent over the phone for a moment.

“Come on, Tim Tam, I got you that Barbie thing for Sarah. And I will compensate you for your time and labor.” 

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Tammy hissed, as the door swung open. 

“Tammy, I couldn’t help but notice you were still using plastic that isn’t BPA free, and I don’t know what you’re doing with your kids, but I sent you that study about aggression in children, and-” 

“Bye, Aunt Peg!” 

Debbie grinned, and had just poured herself another cup of coffee when the intercom went off. Then it buzzed again. And again. And- 

“What?” 

“We got the job!” Constance’s voice crackled through the speaker. 

Debbie sighed, and pressed the button to let them in. Lou ambled out of the study with her own empty cup of coffee and three maps tucked under her arm. 

“Daphne says hi and that you need to stop sending her copies of the Oprah book club selections.” 

Debbie pressed a kiss onto Lou’s temple. “I will not. More coffee?” 

Lou’s answer was cut off by a pounding at their front door. Constance stood outside with a bow tie loosely wrapped around her neck, and practically bounced into the house. She was followed by Nine Ball and a queasy looking Amita. Nine Ball slid open a window and angled a fan towards her as she lit the blunt she pulled out of a pencil case. 

“Constance decided to try a Red Eye this morning.” 

“Hell yeah, I did.” Constance collapsed on a chair, jiggling her leg. 

“Would anyone besides Constance like some coffee.” Amita raised her hand from where she was lying on the floor. 

The planning session devolved into them just socializing, with everyone but Debbie passing back and forth the blunt. It wasn’t quite the same rigorous planning that had happened before the gala, but it was enough, and she felt herself soften a little as she looked at Lou cackling at Constance’s impression of James Franco demanding an extra side salad. She didn’t think her brother’s crew had been close like this, but she was grateful for this new family of hers. 

The day of the Christmas party dawned cold and clear, and as the sun rose, Debbie untangled herself from Lou and pulled her crinkled list out, checking things off. 

In Queens, Nine Ball shut her overheated laptop, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled off to bed. On her way through the kitchen, she straightened her sister’s collar as Veronica ate her cereal and finished her history assignment.

Amita woke up to the smell of coffee and croissants, as Luis brought them in on a tray with the New York Times and roses. 

Constance had passed out on her couch, and, by the time she woke up, only had enough time to brush dry shampoo through her hair and eat a slice of cold pizza. 

When Debbie swept in to the party on Lou’s arm, it had hit the sweet spot where everyone was tipsy enough that they were still having a good time. The smug looking fucker who started this whole thing was surrounded by executives practically clapping him on the back. 

“We’re in place” she murmured into her earpiece. Across the room, Constance elbowed a gangly young man with glazed eyes. The two of them headed out the back door of the kitchen at the same time that Nine Ball glided across the floor with an empty tray in her hands. Amita, in her all black uniform, approached one of the security guards with tears in her eyes. Lou and Debbie had just enough time to clink their glasses together before the lights flickered off. The din of the crowd grew until Martin himself stood up on a chair and whistled to get the crowd’s attention. 

“Alright, everyone. I’m sure this is just a temporary issue. Friedrich?” The security guard nodded and walked away from the door he had been blocking towards the fuse box. 

The lights flickered on, and conversation resumed. To the average guest, it had been a small hiccup in an otherwise uneventful party. But, if you happened to have an earpiece tucked under your chignon, well- 

“Move away from the fuse box, please.” 

“Listen, man, it was her idea, okay? I’ve never even smoked weed before today.” 

“Daaamn, you’re a big guy. Do you do Crossfit? Cause, I’ve always wanted to try it but I read this article once that said it really fucks with your kidneys.” 

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises. Immediately. You can turn in your uniform in the kitchens.” 

There was a pause, where someone could have, for instance, exhaled a lungful of smoke into the face of Friedrich Algertz, notorious for his devotion to his fitness regime and his sensitive nose, then there was a burst of static. From the back window, Debbie could see Constance being escorted to the kitchen, with a firm hand on the back of her neck. In the cramped hallway, Nine Ball brushed past the pair, and continued until she was walking behind the guard who was digging through his pockets for a tissue for Amita. 

“And it’s like, why would you even say that? Like Amanda and I have been friends for years, and she knows I’m sensitive about my driving, and it’s honestly just so rude for her to even bring that up, you know? Especially in front of Jeremy.” 

Once in the room, thanks to the key Constance had slipped her, she settled into her work. Fortunately, it wouldn’t take longer than ten minutes. Unfortunately, she could hear Lou murmur in her earpiece “Debs, Christianson is leaving the room.”   
“Shit.” 

That was a sentiment Nine Ball could relate to. She could hide, but it would take a few more minutes for the information to continue to download onto the hard drive, and it would be easy to figure out what was going on if you tried to use the computer. 

Doing her absolute best to look unhurried, Debbie strode towards Christianson, who had thankfully gotten caught in a conversation with an elderly man. She’d known how to walk in stilettos at thirteen, but it had taken her until twenty to learn how to convincingly stumble in them while keeping herself upright. 

“I am so sorry. Let me go get a napkin, or something.” 

Martin looked down at his shirt, now sopping wet with champagne. “God damn it. This is a four thousand dollar tux.” 

“Please, let me pay for your dry cleaning.” 

“Greg, I’m sorry, give me a few minutes on those numbers. It looks like I’ll have to change.” Just as Christianson turned away, Debbie saw Nine Ball steal across the room. 

“Again, I’m just so sorry.” 

He waved a hand at her dismissively. “It’s fine. It’s not like I can’t afford it.” 

Looking as deferential as possible, she walked back over to Lou. “Ready?” 

They slipped out, and as they walked down the driveway, Amita, Constance, and Nine Ball joined them, already chatting. 

“You know, if I wasn’t dating Luis, I would totally ask that guy out. He’s a good listener.” Amita mused.

“He single? Maybe I should go back and leave him my number.” 

Nine Ball rolled her eyes. “Get in the car.” 

As they all piled in, Lou settling in the driver’s seat and screeching out of the parking garage, Constance leaned forward in her seat. 

“All I’m saying, is next time you guys should be in the kitchen. They made me do dishes. I’m a fucking millionaire.” 

“I promise, next time you can be the one out there listening to them talking about golf. Nine Ball, you got everything?” 

“Yes ma’am. I’m gonna upload it tonight.” 

Debbie popped open the champagne bottle she’d stolen from the table as they’d left and passed it back after she’d taken a swig. “Well ladies, here’s to another job complete.”

Three days later, in a charming pied-a-terre in Paris, Debbie opened the copy of the New York Times that she had paid an exorbitant amount for and flipped until she found the page with Martin Christianson in handcuffs. The article didn’t skimp on the details either, revealing that although the courts hadn’t been able to prove Christianson was aware of the risks of transmission, thanks to an anonymous hacker, thousands of his emails, internal memos, and phone conversations had been shared with several news companies, and had quickly gone viral. 

“Debs. Here.” Lou shrugged her coat off and placed a box on the table in front of Debbie. Debbie raised her eyebrow and undid the wrapping paper. 

“No.” 

Lou bit her lip, but her eyes sparkled. “Yes.” 

Debbie shook out a t-shirt that read, ‘Don’t Go Bacon My Heart’. “Why, Lou?” 

“You can’t buy this kind of camp.” Lou pulled off her sweater to reveal a shirt that said ‘I couldn’t if I fried’. 

“Merry Christmas, Debbie.” 

Debbie smiled and pulled on the t-shirt. “Merry Christmas, Lou.”


End file.
